A Nightmare is a Death Wish Your Heart Makes
by Streia
Summary: When her life when from perfect to pandemonium, Sharpay didn't know. She just wished it would end as suddenly as a nightmare did. Troypay, Rypay.


**I wrote the first part and, because she was having such a suckish life, well, I don't want to give it away. I know it's a little fast-paced and may have some HSM errors, but I did the best I could based on what I know. Please review! **

I'm not thinking. I'm past thinking, at least logically, that is. Now, I'm just doing. My fingers are flying through the buttons on his shirt, but I don't want this.

I turn my eyes to his, but I can't tell how he's feeling because they're so glazed over. I can't tell whether it's from what we're about to do or the pot he sucked up half an hour ago, but he sure does look…gone. What am I doing? I stop, letting my fingers rest at the base of his throat. For a split second I have a strong urge to strangle him to death. His chest is rising and falling slowly, as if it's a struggle to breathe right. He doesn't notice that I've stopped.

"Troy?" I ask quietly, resting my cheek on his chest. "Troy!" I shout more forcefully when he doesn't answer.

"Hmmm…Gabs? 'S'that you?" Sigh. I'm tired of the way he calls her name when he climaxes. As if he's feeling the pleasure with her and I'm just there, feeling unloved. Why do I do this to myself? Right now, more than anything, I wish I was her. So I could love someone and someone could love me. Happiness.

I climb off of him. Gabriella Montez is over him. I mean, what would a smart, pretty, overachiever want with a stoner who doesn't even remember his own name in the morning. I sweep my foot over the array of drugs littered on the ground; one of which is still smoking. You name it, Troy takes it. Hmmm. Gabriella is a smart girl.

Time: 1:10:15 AM. 1:11:27 AM. 1:11:32 AM. Where's Ryan? I need him to relieve this…unloved feeling I've been having recently. Our little secret. Together, we are Rypay. Sharran. Ryshar. But lately, he's been throwing someone else in the mix: Kelsi. Rykels. Rypay sounds more…belong-y. Well, you know, like it fits.

1:49:13 AM. Oh, Ryan. I send him a twin telepathy call. Unfortunately, the signals are weaker for fraternals. Shoot. Shoot, shoot, shoot. I remember a time when we were young and I said "shoot" and Ryan thought I said "shit". I said that I did swear because I thought he'd think I was cooler and wiser, even though I was afraid to swear. I used to think I'd be more likely to be struck by lightning or something. He made me give him my cookies every day at snack time for a week. Or he'd tell.

1:52:19 AM. Where is he?

**xxxxxx**

Ryan's lips are pressed hard against mine; our tongues are battling. He runs his hands under my top, nuzzling my neck. Take it off, Ryan. Oh, yes, Ryan. Ryan.

"Ryan." I'm half-awake as he whispers, "You miss me last night, sis?" I nod sleepily as I reach in to kiss him, but he stops me. "Are you really going to kiss your own brother? You whore. You sick, incestuous whore." I smile against his neck. I love his Hyde Side.

"And don't you dare make a goddamn sound this time. This is physical. Purely physical. But as he says so, I can hear his voice falter a bit. Does he feel the same way I do? I internally groan as he clamps down on my neck. Oh, Ryan.

**xxxxxx**

The next week, I'm feeling sickish and whatnot. I upchuck (aka: vomit, barf, hurl, throw up, regurgitate, do the elevator, toss the beans, get sick, odor chuck output, puke, lose your lunch, toss a sidewalk pizza, perform peristaltic pyrotechnics, drive the porcelain bus, toss your cookies, vomit your victuals) into the toilet at all times. Since Ryan never uses protection (instead, he pulls out as quickly as he can) I immediately do a store-bought pregnancy test.

Positive.

Lab test? Y'know, peeing in a cup? Also positive. I'm ecstatic.

I sit Ryan down and prepare to tell him. He's only my show dog at school, so I don't dare bug him at home. Which means no beating around the bush. "I'm pregnant, Ryan. With your baby."

He stares at me blankly for a second. "There's no way it's mine," he says, standing to mist the leaves of a hibiscus plant on the windowsill.

"Well, of course it's yours. I don't 'do it' with Troy." I shrink back in my chair. I hope he doesn't hit me. "Are you implying that we've had sex before?" he asks me, his mouth hanging open.

What is he doing? Of course we have. Oh, I get it. He's trying to get rid of this problem by denying it. "The baby is Troy's," he says as if he's reading a nursery rhyme to a toddler. "You two broke the condom, you were feeling sick, so you took a lab test. It'll go all right if he doesn't demand a paternity test."

"I can't do that to Troy. I won't! This baby is yours and you are going to help me to take care of him and/or her." He looks at me without moving at all. The look is piercing, menacing. Dangerous. "It's Troy's," I agree with downcast eyes.

"That's my girl. Now come be a good Sharpay and report to my room in five. I'm in need of release."

**xxxxxx**

"I'm offering five hundred and that's the highest I'm going."

"I'm killing a human being. I demand six-fifty at the very least. Or five hundred and a free Lava Springs membership."

Ryan sighed, fumbling with his thumbs. "Okay, fine. Six-fifty. But you've got the deal down; right in the lower stomach. Right?"

"Yeah, yeah, I got it down. Belo always gets it done." Belo nodded, pushing his sunglasses to the bridge of his nose. I want the money in full by Wednesday and you'll get your job done by…say, Thursday night."

Ryan nodded and exited through the door, sure he was doing the right thing for him and Sharpay. If she wasn't going to voluntarily get an abortion, he'd just have to destroy the "it" growing in her uterus himself.

**xxxxxx**

**Thursday, Lava Springs Annual Saddle-Up Day**

The Lava Springs Annual Saddle-Up Day is a day filled with horses, ponies, and colts of all sorts. Lava Springs provides most of them, although some members bring their own horses. Mine, Kishke, is already fifteen hands high. He's a Palomino.

I'm spending my time inside of the ring where the more wild horses are ridden so that they don't escape and run off with the rider. And if the horse manages to jump the fence, then, well, that isn't our problem.

The first horse to go in has a black blinking collar around its neck. Hurrah! I've been lonely; most of the horses are tamed before coming. Its owner is big and burly, with a long black mustache and sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He brings it in, slapping it on the thigh with a bat the whole time. Poor horse.

It runs toward me. Since I'm probably not in its line of vision, I raise a bright yellow flag to attract it and get its owner to stop it. It doesn't stop. I try to run, but its hooves strike me in my side, staining my blue sundress and throwing me a foot away from the ring.

**xxxxxx**

"You lost the baby," Ryan says with a sneer as soon as my eyes open. "Belo did a good job, dontcha think?" he smiles and pats my stomach under the thin hospital sheet. "Don't make me have to do this again, sweetheart."

Sweetheart? Sweetheart, sweetheart.

"Sweetheart? Are you all right?" I sit up and find myself in my own room, right next to Ryan. "Are you all right, Shar?" he repeats, sitting up. "You seemed to be having a bad dream.

"I'm fine," I manage to splutter, wiping my brow with the back of my hand. "As long as I'm here in your arms."

"Cornball," he remarks, closing his eyes to go back to sleep. I sigh happily as I realize that Troy isn't a stoner, and Saddle-Up Day doesn't even really exist, and I've never had a baby growing inside of me. Or ever had the displeasure of meeting a hit man named Belo.

That's the first nightmare I've had since our night maid died.

Good thing I'm living a life as perfect as a dream.


End file.
